


Hard Graft

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Cadet Ellacott and Sergeant Strike [4]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: AU, Army AU, Cadet Ellacott, F/M, Military Training, Porn With Plot, Secret Relationship, Sergeant Strike, Smut, a little plot, if you wait long enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29023662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Part 4 of Cadet Ellacott and Sergeant Strike. They can be read as standalone pieces, but there will be a story arc through the series.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Cadet Ellacott and Sergeant Strike [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877125
Comments: 49
Kudos: 82





	Hard Graft

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the muse has been a fickle thing lately. Haven’t written anything in a month, so I decided to throw some shameless smut out there, seeing as we all love this little series. The piece that was supposed to be piece 4 will now hopefully be 5, but it’s no less stuck than it was...

The air had a tinge of warmth today, the sun a hint of strength, flexing its muscles, promising spring. Luckily it hadn’t been too wet recently, thought Cadet Robin Ellacott as she pounded down the far side of the assault course, or this whole exercise would have been a mudbath. It would by no means have been her first such challenge, but she was glad conditions today were dryer. Slick mud pounded into a porridge by dozens of pairs of boots added an unpleasant, joint-wrenching, energy-sapping layer to proceedings.

And God knew, these courses were hard enough anyway. She’d done them regularly on her initial training at Sandhurst. The recruits undergoing SIB training were less commonly commanded to do the assault activities, but every so often one would be thrown in to make sure they were keeping up with their fitness as well as their studies.

Thank goodness she had, Robin thought as she threw herself to the ground and hauled herself in under the netting, pulling forward with her elbows and rolling her shoulder so that the heavy pack strapped to her back wouldn’t catch in the weave of the webbing. You could tell the ones who were struggling, who hadn’t pushed themselves to keep at the peak of physical fitness. She’d overtaken them some time ago.

They were on their third circuit, and once again Robin was glad of the relative lack of mud as she dodged the boots of the soldier in front of her. The ground had been dry lately, and although the inevitable divots and splatters of mud flew around her, at least she wasn’t practically swimming in sludge.

Pulling herself free of the netting, she rolled to her feet and sprinted for the wall, her eyes already scanning for a space. A couple of her fellow recruits, gasping for breath, had paused to wait their turn; Robin dodged around them and leaped, grabbing the netting as high up as she could between two sets of legs and starting to climb. It was a matter of pride to her that she keep up with her fellows physically. She was ten years older than most of them; it wouldn’t do to look out of condition in comparison.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strike hadn’t particularly intended to watch this morning’s exercise, he’d told himself. It had reached his ears over breakfast that Sergeant Simms had decided to throw a surprise physical training morning at his batch of recruits, and it never did any harm to cast an eye over their charges in action. Strike might no longer be required to do such exercises himself since losing the lower part of his right leg, nor be in charge of making the recruits do them, but it was encompassed within their overall training and, as one of the mentors here, he would be doing his job more thoroughly if he took an interest in every aspect of their development.

_Yeah, right, Strike._

He knew, deep down, why he was really here. Why he had moved from watching idly from a window to being here now at the side of the field, knowing full well that it was nothing to do with enjoying the weak spring sunshine as he had told himself. He listened to the shouts, watched the youngsters pound the course again and again. He wondered how many times Simms was going to send them round.

He tried to make sure he cast an eye over all the recruits, but of course it was Ellacott who held his attention. He felt a glow of pride watching her, at how well she was doing, easily keeping up with and often outstripping young men and women who had several years on her. It helped that she was tall, he mused. She had that advantage over some of the other female recruits at least.

Her red-gold head, mud-spattered with hair tied back in a tight ponytail, vanished from view as she dropped to the ground again and crawled into the far end of a half-buried pipe. Here she had an advantage over some of the stockier guys in the group; slender, she had more room to manoeuvre. Strike didn’t have to wait long to see her crawl out of the end nearer to him and roll swiftly to her feet.

Ellacott paused a brief moment, pushing a loose strand of hair from her brow that gleamed with sweat, leaving a streak of mud across her forehead as she looked to the next obstacle. Her eyes swept the course and met his; Strike saw her almost start as their gazes clashed.

Her chest heaved, her cheeks were pink, she was muddy and wet, but it was the look in her eye that gave him pause. You could tell when the recruits hated the physical exercises, when they were struggling, or more usually when they were simply enduring, focused on the task at hand. This was more the look Cadet Ellacott had, but she was close enough for Strike to see a flash of something else too. She was enjoying this, relishing the challenge.

For a moment Strike was transported back to the peak of his own career, when he was whole and fit and could partake in exercises like this. These days he was reduced to weights in the gym, careful sessions on the rowing machine and swimming whenever he could manage it for keeping his own fitness levels topped up. Time was when he, too, had revelled in the physical training, the focus on the here and now, the ache in the muscles and the burn in the lungs that could drive out mental or emotional pain, reducing the world to the next exercise, to the satisfaction of pushing the body to its limits, no thought for anything else.

Before he could wonder what demons she might have that needed to be outrun, she had torn her gaze from his and was sprinting for the next obstacle, a wall with a series of fake windows to be climbed through. He could see her analysing from a distance, picking which one to aim for, her jaw set in determination. She looked to be moving faster suddenly, more determinedly, and he wondered if he was imagining things.

 _Christ_ , she was sexy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin chose a window and clambered through it as they had been taught. She didn’t quite drop her shoulder enough and her pack caught; swearing under her breath, she wrenched it free. This wasn’t just a normal, run-of-the-mill training morning any more. This was a matter of pride suddenly. For reasons she didn’t want to analyse too closely, she wanted Sergeant Strike to see her do well, to excel.

What was he doing here, anyway? It was very distracting. Hauling herself through the gap she had picked that was slightly too small, Robin was aware that she might have chosen better if her attention hadn’t been abruptly and completely derailed by those dark eyes watching her. He was stood at the side of the course, boots planted firmly, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal thickly haired forearms crossed in front of him, watching them all with that mesmerising gaze. Self-conscious suddenly, Robin had lost focus and picked her window badly; with a final tug she was through, but she stumbled a little on landing and her pack was heavier now, her legs tired. She lumbered, feeling ungainly, towards the ladder wall, and tried to pick up the pace again. She could feel him watching her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strike tried to tell himself he was just taking an interest in Ellacott’s career as his eyes followed her backside as she trotted up the ladder. Her combat trousers, damp and muddy, moulded to her body and he could see the outline of her thighs and arse, the flex of her muscles.

It had been some weeks now since Christmas, the worst of winter over. Strike had spent chunks of the time since their Christmas Day encounter trying to force himself to analyse what had been happening between them. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong. What had once been, before he’d invited her to his room that day, a dalliance that he had allowed to happen too often but which had only occurred randomly when an opportunity presented itself had become, in a moment of mutual longing, something they arranged, planned for. It had been a step too far, and he had backed off a little since. And how he missed her, missed looking forward to their trysts.

He’d told himself firmly several times that it wasn’t going to happen again, couldn’t happen again, all the while knowing deep down that it would. He didn’t have the willpower to resist the attraction between them.

It wasn’t just the physical nature of things that troubled him, gave him pause, however. He’d been discomfited by the way he’d felt on Christmas Day as she straightened her clothing to leave, how he’d yearned for her to stay, to extend their closeness. How he’d kept the Santa hat long after he should have binned it, allowing himself to pretend it was just part of his furniture now, hung on his bedpost. Eventually he had forced himself to throw it away along with the hair clip in his pocket that he had often toyed with, cursing his own sentimentality.

Whatever was between them had to stop. He knew that.

So why was he standing here now, admiring her figure and allowing himself to remember soft curves and parted lips, her moans in his ear and her fingernails digging into his backside? She’d come to his room that day without her underwear on under her uniform; it was an image he hadn’t been able to dislodge from his mind. It had been bad enough trying to teach a class with her in it when his unruly thoughts would sometimes linger on whetheror not she might be wearing the green lace bra and knickers she’d worn on their first encounter. Now that he’d been given the possibility that she might be wearing nothing under her uniform - unlikely though that might be in class - it sometimes took every ounce of his self control to focus on the task at hand. He had the uncomfortable feeling she knew full well what she did to him.

Desire rose sharply now, and Strike scowled at himself. He’d managed fine without a woman in his life for quite some time before this one had come along; it was as though his body, newly remembering what good sex was like - and _Christ_ , they were good together - was quite determined to overrule his rational mind. He watched her round the far corner and step up onto the balance bar; tired though he could see she was, she traversed the obstacle swiftly, her boots gripping the log unerringly, her steps light. She never once looked like tipping into the ditch below, and jumped neatly off the end and accelerated towards the next challenge.

She would be hot, his unruly mind suggested unhelpfully. The blood thrumming through her veins, the sweat slicking her skin, her pulse racing beneath his touch—

 _Stop it, Strike._ He forced his mind away from such wonderings, refused to acknowledge the heat coiling at the base of his spine, turned his attention to some of the other recruits.

Up at the top of the course, Simms began to flag down the recruits as they completed their final circuit. A group slowly gathered as they made their way in and stood, getting their breath back, waiting for the stragglers to catch up.

Cadet Ellacott was making her way over towards Strike. To his surprise, vague alarm and, mixed in, a surge of delight that he chose to ignore, she was heading straight for him. She walked almost right up to him and bent down to his left; only then did he realise that a small heap of water bottles lay on the ground a few feet away. She seized one, straightened up and threw him a grin that was more confident than her usual demeanour around the base.

“Morning, sir.”

“Ellacott,” Strike murmured back, mesmerised. Up close, she was even more captivating than he’d anticipated. She was slightly dishevelled, still breathing a little unevenly, her neck sheened with sweat and her face streaked with mud. She unscrewed the cap on her water bottle and took a long drink, and he couldn’t stop staring at her, at the way her eyes drifted closed in ecstasy at the taste of the cool water, the way her throat moved as she swallowed, the bead of sweat that trickled down from the hair behind her ear and slid towards the soft collar of her T-shirt. Tendrils of hair, escaped from her ponytail, stuck to her skin or shifted in the breeze. He could smell her suddenly, hot and musky, and a surge of lust almost overwhelmed him. There was something deeply carnal about his body’s reaction to her, about his sudden, desperate urge to seize her, to taste her, to know her, feel that flesh that was so pumped up respond to him, to his touch—

“Sir?”

Strike realised that he was staring, breathing hard, and Cadet Ellacott looked back at him, her eyebrow quirked below the smear of mud across her sweaty forehead. Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and she wouldn’t need the evidence of the rapidly growing bulge at his groin to sense his predicament; she would see it in his face, in his unsteady breathing, in the flex of his hands that longed to touch her. Strike didn’t think he’d ever been this close to totally losing control of himself in public before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin stared back at the sergeant. No need to guess at his train of thought; he looked as though he wanted to eat her alive, and suddenly, so close to him, seeing the heave of his chest as he fought for control, her body, already thrumming and alive from her exertions, went into overdrive. The ache of desire clenched in her groin, and for once, her blood up and her senses heightened, she didn’t back down, didn’t try to hide what she was feeling for propriety’s sake. Simms had dismissed them all, and the cadets were dispersing rapidly. She gazed back at the big sergeant, her chin lifted a little in a challenge, and let him see that she, too, wanted this.

It had been some weeks; she’d had the vague sense he’d been avoiding being alone with her since Christmas. She’d told herself this was a good thing. She needed to get her feelings under control. It was one thing to have let herself to fall into some kind of physical affair with a superior officer - and the Robin of six months ago would have been horrified at her behaviour - but it was quite another to have allowed the development of the feelings that had taken root in her chest and wouldn’t let go. She covertly watched the big sergeant in class as he lectured them on surveillance or interview techniques, talked about their upcoming practice cases that they would be expected to solve. The rush of fondness that overcame her when she remembered his mouth soft against her neck or his kisses gentle on her lips was far more disturbing to her equilibrium than the heat that swept through her when she thought about his hands on her body or his—

They were still staring at one another. Bold suddenly, Robin tossed her head a little and shot him a cheeky look.

“I’m going for a shower,” she said, her voice low, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as he swallowed hard, his hands closing into fists. With the tiniest wink, she turned away and headed towards the main building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_What are you doing, Strike?_ But he couldn’t stop himself. She was walking away from him, which was just unthinkable and yet gave him another view of that incredible backside; he was following without even realising it. The tilt of her head and that cheeky little wink combined with the image she’d just put in his head of that delicious body under the deluge of a shower, her hair dark wet and water running down her curves, had ignited the flames he’d been desperately trying to keep under control. Something deep within him had snapped, and he had to have her. Now.

They were the last to leave the field, Ellacott the last to take her weighted pack to sling in the shed on the way round the side of the building towards the changing rooms and shower block. She stepped into the shed and in a moment of madness Strike, glancing all around and seeing no one near, followed her in.

She was waiting for him, knew he’d be behind her. Strike dragged the door to as best he could behind him, plunging them into semi darkness lit only by the sunlight trying to make its way in through a grimy side window partially obscured by piled up equipment. Ellacott dropped her pack to the floor, swinging to face him, and leaned back against the shelving unit behind her and watched him, waiting to see what he would do.

Strike paused, breathing hard, desperate desire warring with sense. Anyone could come by at any moment. Simms himself would be along at some point soon to lock the shed, which would force them to either reveal themselves or be locked in, and what reason could he have for being alone in an equipment store with a young, attractive cadet? Even these few seconds in here could spell ruin for both of them, without anything needing to happen. He should leave now, before it was too late.

Cadet Ellacott crossed her arms in front of herself and stripped off her sweat-soaked T-shirt, dropping it to the dirty floor and staring at him, her wide blue-grey eyes stormy with desire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin had known somehow as she walked away from the sergeant that he would follow. There was something about the way he looked at her, the hunger she sensed in him that had instantly sparked her own desire. What on earth had possessed her to tell him she was heading for the showers? Of course she was, they all were after a muddy training morning. She had done it purely to excite his interest further, and she knew it had worked.

She wondered suddenly what it would be like to share a shower with him, in fact to actually see one another naked, which they never had in their hurried encounters thus far.

So where had this boldness come from? But she knew. There was something irresistible about having this huge man at her mercy, about the way he was so obviously desperate to touch her, knowing he shouldn’t and yet following her in here against his better judgment. It was intoxicating, powerful, and she’d seen the moment just now when he’d doubted, hesitated, saw him thinking of the risk and was afraid he was going to back out.

Now, though, he was staring at her breasts in her regulation black support bra, and even in the dim light Robin could see the evidence of his desire straining at his fly. Her hands moved to the front of her trousers, nimble fingers undoing belt and button and slowly easing her zip down; with a low groan, the big sergeant reached to undo his own, accepting the inevitability.

Her body humming with desire, Robin watched him, and on a moment of impulse she slid her hand down into her knickers, caressing herself, cupping her heated core. She watched him watching her, and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. With a low growl, Strike stepped forward and seized her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rational thought had deserted him; there was only need now. His hands were clumsy in their haste - he wanted to grip her hips, to caress her breasts, to free her hair, and he couldn’t do it all at once. Instead he found himself tugging her hand from her knickers and replacing it with his own, sliding down inside even as her mouth found his, messy and fierce. He kissed her hard, moaning a little into her mouth, pressing his whole body against hers, desperate to feel her. Her hands between them were already reaching into his trousers in return, and Strike gasped and swore as she closed around his cock, making it jerk, sending a pulse of lust through his whole body.

He was still kissing her. His tongue plundered her mouth, thrilling to her responses to him, and then his lips were on her cheek, her jaw, her neck, seeking out the sweat that still slicked her skin. She smelled incredible, hot and sweaty and musky. There was no delicate floral scent today; she’d grafted hard on the assault course and the primal, earthy smell of her drove his lust on inexorably. His right hand cupped her core, offering her the slowest friction while the fingers of his left tugged at her bra, seeking to free her breast, and his teeth grazed her collarbone. Dimly he was aware that he wasn’t being gentle, but Ellacott met his onslaught with a desperation of her own, shoving at his trousers and boxers, freeing his cock and sliding her hand around it, wrapping an arm around him to tug him closer, her fingers splaying across his back under his shirt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sir,” Robin gasped as his big hand slid against her. They didn’t have much time; she knew this as well as he did, and she was, as ever, still wearing combat trousers and tightly laced, mud-caked boots. Getting out of enough clothing to make anything more than what they were already doing possible was going to take time, time they didn’t have. Time they neither of them would have had the patience for even if they did.

The ache in her core was a torturous, physical thing. His fingers worked her gently while his other hand cupped her breast, his thumb stroking circles around her nipple that drove her pleasure on, and Robin knew she could come like this, and fast, the way the pleasure rippled through her with every touch. But she wanted more.

“Sir,” she began again, and he pulled his mouth back from her neck to meet her gaze. She swallowed hard at the wrecked look on his face, his eyes black with desire. Her hand was still stroking his length, sliding, exploring, and the pleasure made his breathing unsteady, his hips rocking into her touch.

“Ellacott,” he murmured back, and as always, the note of fondness mixed in with the desire made her eyes prickle; there was something about the feeling between them that was more than just lust, that made her trust him utterly.

“I want you,” she muttered, and he gave a low chuckle.

“Me too, but you’re a little overdressed,” he replied roughly. “Unless—”

His hand slid from her underwear to her hip, squeezing gently, and Robin understood.

“Yes,” she gasped, turning in his arms. Within moments she was pressed up against the shelves, leaning forward as best she could while the sergeant eased her combat trousers down and slid a big hand across her arse and down beneath her, teasing gently at her folds. Gasping, Robin bent over further. She felt him line himself up, and she moaned in encouragement, and then he was sliding into her and her voice dropped to a low groan of pleasure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Strike was used to sex with Cadet Ellacott feeling incredible, but this angle, the tight heat of her, her backside pressed against his groin, were a new level of pleasure. Her head tilted back as he withdrew a little and thrust again, and his hand moved automatically to her hair, tangling gently in her ponytail, tugging her head to one side so that he could lean forward and find the side of her neck with his mouth as his hips rocked against her. She dropped her head back for him and he licked at her sweat. She tasted good, earthy sweet, and the feel of her was almost more than he could withstand.

He slid his other hand around her, his fingers stroking over her hip, across the firmness of her stomach and down into her curls, seeking her clit and caressing it, encouraging her on as he thrust.

He thrilled to the sound of her moan of pleasure, her whimpered pleas to him not to stop. He had no intention of stopping - wasn’t sure he could if he tried. He was vaguely aware that there was a possibility that they could be caught, but the danger slid from his mind, unimportant, obliterated by waves of pleasure as he surged into her again and again.

His release was gathering at the base of his spine, his body drawing tight with anticipation, while Ellacott trembled beneath him, shaking with the pleasure that he was giving her, that they were finding together. Groaning, Strike tried to slow down a little, and she protested, thrusting back against him; the extra stimulation sent a shockwave through him and he gasped, bucking into her harder than he’d intended. Her little cry of delight drove him to do it again, and she gave a low moan and shuddered beneath him, contracting around him.

She continued to thrust back against him as he rocked into her, chasing his release, and then the white-hot pleasure rushed through him, rippling through his whole body until he was spent and twitching against her, clutching her body to his and panting in her ear.

Cadet Ellacott dropped her head back to his shoulder, her gasps giving way to a contented sound, a cross between a hum of satisfaction and a chuckle; letting go of the shelves in front of her, she slid her arm up and around the back of his neck, pulling him close. Strike pressed his face into her skin with an answering rumble of contentment, deeply sated, kissing her neck and then her cheek reverently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This moment, again. The one she never wanted to end. The part she looked forward to almost as much as the sex itself. Robin threw caution to the wind and allowed herself to press back against him like a cat, rubbing her cheek against his, tangling her fingers into his hair, her other hand sliding to hold his arm across her stomach, and the big sergeant didn’t pull away. He moulded himself around her and hugged her close, and for a minute they simply breathed one another.

His lips were against her cheek, and he gently kissed her as they hugged; Robin relaxed in his arms and let him hold her, her fingers idly toying with the hair at his nape. A minute passed, and then another, and she knew that they really should move, should get themselves out of this compromising position lest they get caught, but still she lingered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had to leave or risk both their careers. Slowly, reluctantly, Strike eased himself free of the cadet’s arms, pulling back from her. He was still almost entirely clothed; he straightened his shirt, tucked it in and did up his belt while Ellacott shimmied herself back into her wet trousers with a murmur of distaste. Stepping back, Strike bent to swipe her T-shirt from the floor. He felt wobbly, unbalanced, pleasure still echoing through him and making his knees and hips feel weak. He passed her her top, and she cast him a sideways smile as she took it.

“Thanks,” she murmured, and busied herself turning it the right way through and pulling it on. Strike had to physically steer himself away to keep from gazing longingly at her; he moved to the door to check that the coast was clear. It was.

He turned back to her, and she was presentable again, picking up her discarded pack from the floor.

Strike reached out and gently took it from her. “You go and shower,” he said, and she hesitated then relinquished her hold and nodded, moving towards the door. Strike turned his attention to the shelves, finding a space for the last pack, straightening a few.

A small hand on his arm gave him pause; he half turned and the cadet was still there. He looked at her questioningly, and she ducked her head, her cheeks pink.

“Ellacott?” he said softly, and she peeped up at him through her eyelashes; she was so beautiful, mud spattered and dishevelled though she was, it took his breath away. Then she pushed herself up onto her toes and kissed his mouth, swiftly and gently, and before he could respond she pulled back, gave him a cheeky grin, and then she was gone, slipping out of the door and across towards the shower block.

Strike froze for a moment, the feel of her mouth tingling on his lips, resisting the urge (what was he, some lovesick teenager?) to touch his mouth with his fingers. The sound of her boots faded away, and he shook his head a little at his own fancy and finished straightening the shelves, a smile creeping across his face.

A few moments later, he stepped out of the shed, pushed the door to behind him and, whistling, sauntered back around to the front of the building and headed towards the mess hall and lunch. She would be at her place where she always sat with the other cadets, fresh from her shower and neatly clothed for an afternoon of lectures, and he would sit as he always did with the other officers. But she would be there, and they would both be thinking of what had just occurred, and sometimes just being in the same room as her was enough.

What was going on between them had to stop, he knew that. But there were moments when it felt less imperative, and this was one of them. Straightening his face lest anyone see his silly grin and wonder about the cause of it, Strike set his features to their normal thoughtful surliness and clumped down the hallway towards the clatter of crockery and the delicious smells of cooking, hungry suddenly.


End file.
